


Shattered Ice

by BlueNightmare



Category: Fire Emblem Heroes, Fire Emblem Series
Genre: F/F, Fingerfucking, Humiliation, Illusions, Non-Consensual Bondage, Non-Consensual Kissing, Non-Consensual Oral Sex, Pseudo-Incest, Psychological Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-07
Updated: 2018-06-07
Packaged: 2019-05-19 06:29:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,808
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14868515
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlueNightmare/pseuds/BlueNightmare
Summary: Fjorm, Princess of Nifl, lies defeated by Surtr. The King of Múspell discards his vanquished foe as beneath his notice, but Loki has no intention of letting a new toy go to waste.





	Shattered Ice

The flames licking the scorched grasslands refused to die.

All around, the broken skeletons of ruined buildings littered the earth, remnants of the village that had stood on this desolate spot only hours in the past. The stench of burning wood, burning grass, burning flesh filled the air, drifting clouds of thick black smoke tainting the blue sky above with acrid ash.

Yet despite the devastation, one little blot of brilliant blue and gold and white stood out like a fire at midnight among the blacks and browns and grays of the town's smoldering, crumbling corpse. Her regal cape was tattered and singed, her pale skin and soft blonde hair layered in ash and dirt, but for all that she looked like another body strewn across the broken wreckage, Fjorm was still breathing. Still alive. The Princess of Nifl had been through what felt like hell, blazing flames and all, but she wasn't there yet.

_Feel that pain, child of ice._

_Feel it... and tell me what you desire most._

_Should I scar your face with flame?_

_Or should I burn your fingers to ash, one by one..._

_As I did to your mother?_

_What would you have me do, hmm?_

Surtr's words lingered in her ears, in her mind, as she slowly floated back to the waking world and all of the agony that it held for her. The black peace of unconsciousness faded away around her, betraying her to the savage aches and burning pain that had sent her into the void in the first place. Bitter reality coalesced around her, cold biting at her face and exposed thighs as she tried to pull herself back together, Surtr's name hot on taut lips...

Yet it wasn't Surtr's heavy brown boot in the dirt in front of her face as her ice-blue eyes cracked open, but a smaller boot of soft golden leather fit for a woman.

"Rise and shine, Princess! It's time for us to play a little game."

The voice was feminine, chirpy and eager, a far cry from the growling rasp that was characteristic of Surtr, but Fjorm could feel very little relief at her nemesis's absence while gloved fingers were winding their way through her pale blonde locks, snaking against her head, bumping her golden tiara from her forehead...

Clawing her hair into a vicious fist, sending fresh pain needling across her scalp.

"Do you have any idea how pathetic you have to be for _Surtr_ to pass up a chance to torture you?" The woman spoke over Fjorm's shaking grunt as if the girl's pain meant nothing to her, and through her stinging tears the princess could barely make out a scornful face, cruel red eyes, pony-tailed red hair, all utterly unfamiliar. The visage of a stranger. A stolen face, though Fjorm could not yet know it. "My king spent _hours_ on your worthless mother, breaking her beyond recognition, and she wasn't even _fighting back_. And you call yourself an heir of Nifl?" A spiteful laugh, barked at her from on high. "What a joke."

Fjorm's body was drained of its strength by her battle with Surtr, her limbs barely willing to acknowledge her will, let alone obey. There was nothing she could do but grit her teeth and bear the pain, the disdain in the red woman's eyes, her tattered clothes hanging from her limp form as she dimly begged her strength to return. "Nngh..."

"How adorable."

The hand slammed Fjorm's face back down into the dirt.

"Still, it seems like such a waste to cast you aside." That taunting voice broke through the fresh shock of pain reverbrating through Fjorm's skull, the sole of a leather boot lifting to stamp against the princess's temple. Grinding her face into the soil, hard enough to hurt. "Perhaps Surtr won't find amusement in ruining you, sweetie, but _I_ could always use a new plaything."

Fjorm's fingers clawed into the dirt. It was a feeble response, but the best that her exhausted body could manage. 

At least she was moving at all, she reminded herself, desperately fanning the embers of her resolve. She might be humiliated, broken, but she was not yet beaten. She was regaining control of her body, one twitch at a time...

Her pale blue eyes found her spear, scorched and twisted but whole. It lay only inches out of reach. If she could just-

"Fjorm, wasn't it?"

The boot abruptly lifted from its resting place atop Fjorm's head, but she had not the strength to raise it.

"Well, my dear, I am Loki, a servant of the mighty King Surtr of Múspell." Nudging Fjorm's dirtied cheek with the toe of her boot, her lips curling in a wicked smile, the red-haired fiend stared down at her like a wyvern deciding where first to bite. "Not that a slave like you need know my name. You will call me... _Master_."

 _Master..._ Fjorm would die before she called any servant of Surtr by such a name! Spitting dirt from her mouth, she focused on willing strength back into her limbs, the pain radiating across her drained body a constant distraction but not enough to deter her. Nobody was coming to rescue her. If she wanted to be saved from her fate, she would need to do the saving herself.

If only she had any idea how to accomplish that. Her body was still barely responding, the pain hounding her at every step. Gods, she had been foolish to take on a monster like Surtr on her own...

Avenging her mother was merely a dream when she couldn't even protect herself.

"Nothing to say for yourself?" The red-haired woman - Loki - continued her prodding at Fjorm's helpless body, jabbing the toe of her boot against shoulder, hip, breast. The last of those made Fjorm wince and suck in air, a response that her tormentor didn't fail to notice; she repeated the dose twice more, nudging the Niflian girl's small bosom through the front of her shredded blue tunic, each kick harder than the last. "Oh? Sensitive there, are we?"

"What do you want...?" Unused to being touched _there_ of all places, Fjorm amazed herself by croaking out the words that had been preying on her mind, the taste of ash and dirt on her tongue as she coughed and gasped from the effort. 

That provoked a malicious grin from Loki, a truly wicked thing that made even her pretty face seem a demon's. 

"Nothing I cannot simply _take_."

She swooped to illustrate the point, plucking Fjorm by the collar of her mantle as if she weighed nothing at all, effortlessly yanking the princess to her feet and dangling her like a rag doll. Still too weak to resist, the toes of her winged boots scraping against the dirt as Loki held her higher than their comparative sizes should have allowed, Fjorm gasped, choked, her arms swinging listlessly at her sides as she fought to control her own body...

Loki's lips were soft, but the kiss was brutally hard.

Crystal blue eyes shot open in shock, but there was no resisting. The sorceress claimed Fjorm's mouth ferocity of a starving animal, a foreign tongue slithering into her mouth and whipping against her own, lips hot and wet against her own as a hand cupped her chin and pinned her head in place for the taking. Her very first kiss was ripped from her without a care, pilfered from a mouth and body far too weak to resist, and it hurt every bit as much as the beating she had taken from Surtr that had very nearly killed her, if in a very different way.

It cut to her core, but she fought, her hands balling into fists at her hips.

Even had she known that the woman's face was an illusion she would have been hard-pressed to tell the difference - every inch of her felt authentic to the touch, indistinguishable from the real thing - and as Loki pulled away with a smugly satisfied smile, dropping the pink-faced Fjorm back to the dirt in a heap, she licked her stolen lips clean of the princess's taste. "I knew you'd be fun, sweetie," she gloated as she stepped around the fallen girl, scoffing in amusement as Fjorm found the strength to push herself up to her knees. "A broken toy is still a toy. It just doesn't matter if you're rough with it if it's already ruined."

A swift, sharp kick in the stomach made Fjorm hiss, her arms trembling but refusing to give.

"I could still have _so much fun_ with you." A gloved hand sifted through her soft blonde hair, stroking, petting, and Fjorm had not the strength to stop her, tears glimmering in her eyes as she bore the unwanted attention and fought not to buckle. "A princess all of my own. Sweet, pretty, innocent..."

The hand tightened on Fjorm's skull, palm grinding against her scalp, and the Niflian maiden felt her hard-won strength wrested away from her like a cap being twisted from a bottle.

"Still, innocence never lasts forever."

Fjorm's fallen, dirtied tiara blurred into darkness in front of her as Loki's dark magic took hold, the sorceress's gloved hand simply pushing down on the ice maiden's head until her eyelids sagged and her arms gave in, dropping her back into the dirt yet again. Her consciousness ebbed away into the void, and Loki did not remove her hand from Fjorm's soiled hair until the girl was silent and still, as helpless and senseless as she had been when Surtr had finished with her. 

For all his power, Loki reflected, stroking the fallen princess's cheek with the back of her hand, the man had no taste.

~ ~ ~

The first thing Fjorm saw as she floated back to consciousness was the stone floor of the dungeon inches below her dangling feet.

Her head spinning, anemically light, it took time for her to comprehend that she was naked, her limbs spread wide and taut.

The chains of sickly purple mist were Loki's doing, wrapped tight and seamless around Fjorm's wrists and ankles, stretching her body in a cross and holding her afloat in mid-air. The unearthly restraints seemed to flow against her skin, insubstantial yet beyond her power to break, their embrace strangely hot and tingly as they held her up in the center of the subterranean dungeon, spreadeagled and exposed.

Loki had seen it all already, of course. It had been her pleasure to peel every layer of fine Niflian clothing from Fjorm's limp body, her eager hands and hungry eyes discovering small but perky breasts, delicately curved hips, a smooth, pert ass, a vulnerable womanhood crowned by fine blonde hair. She had touched, squeezed, fondled all she pleased, but the experience had left her... unsatisfied.

The girl's body was a fun enough toy, but where was the thrill of her reactions when she was unconscious? No, it was much more fun to wait until she awakened, to steal what she wanted when the girl was aware to feel it. She wanted horrified look on the sweet girl's face as she reached a chain of sickening conclusions. Her protests. Her pleas. The look of resignation on her face as she realized that there would be no mercy, no escape.

"Wakey wakey, sweetie." Anna's voice felt almost natural on Loki's tongue by now. The body of the commander of the Order of Heroes was a neat fit, if rather lacking in certain assets. She strode forward to meet the frightened princess, slipping an illusionary glove from her hand and cupping Fjorm's chin, forcing the Niflian girl to look her in the eye. "And spare me the 'let me go' routine. It does get _so_ tiresome, and I promise you, it's not going to happen."

Her cheeks aflame with blushing pink, unease and anger simmering within her ice-blue eyes, Fjorm opened her mouth to speak, only for Loki's fingertip to alight on her lips, deep red eyes glaring a warning. She had been going to say it, Loki could see it in her eyes.

Finally, she stepped back, her point made, leaving Fjorm blushing fiercely as she sought her composure. "W-what do you want...?"

"You. Like this." Circling around the suspended girl, admiring every angle of her own private show, Loki mercilessly crushed the possibility of her prisoner negotiating her way out of her chains, brutally matter-of-fact. Beneath her pretty cloak and tunic Princess Fjorm of Nifl was near as white as snow, and the native chill of her homeland her body was reacting to the dungeon's cold, her rosy little nipples standing to attention as proud, tiny peaks upon her unwillingly exposed breasts. "The defeated warrior at the mercy of her conqueror's whims. It never gets old, no matter how many kingdoms one crushes." A giddy snort as she traced her bare finger down the curve of Fjorm's spine, from her shoulders to the small of her back, alighting on the junction between her pale buttocks. "Well, perhaps Surtr disagrees. He may have tired of making Niflian royalty sing, but I assure you, I have not."

Loki's touch made Fjorm shudder in revulsion, her breaths shaking as her shackled hands clenched into fists above her head. "You are... a monster."

"Now, now..." Loki crooked a finger in front of Fjorm's dirtied face, tracing a coil of thick purple mist into being, guiding it against the shackled girl's alabaster cheek and sending it snaking around her head. Gossamer light and insistently firm, it stretched taut against her lips and pressed them flat against her teeth, bunching her jaw against her face and holding it shut, almost as if it were Loki's hand clamped over her face. "Remember who you are talking to, sweetie," the sorceress growled into her ear, tapping Fjorm's nose with a fingertip, smiling wickedly as it scrunched in response. "I am your new master, remember? I _own_ you, little princess."

The rage written across the visible parts of Fjorm's face made plain what her answer would have been had she been able to speak, but even the Niflian princess knew that right now, her words held the ring of truth. Effectively, Loki _did_ own her - she was naked, bound, powerless to stop her tormentor doing as she pleased to her, and if there _was_ a way she could get herself out of this, it hadn't yet occurred to her. She seethed behind her misty muzzle, knowing that she was beaten.

Glowingly triumphant, Loki stepped back in front of her shackled plaything, fingertip propped beneath her chin as she considered, calculated. "Would you like me to let you in on a little secret, my pretty little princess?"

Fjorm glared, unable to answer, dreading what was to come.

"Watch closely, now." Loki was standing there, an evil smile on her wily features... and then she _wasn't_ , her body blurring and warping as if someone had tipped water over drying ink. Red and gold and white shifted and twisted in space, mottling into gold and blue and pink, and when the distortion finally settled back into a solid form the face Loki had adopted was gone, replaced by a new one that made Fjorm's eyes widen in shock.

Familiar ice-blue eyes stared back at her, narrowed in delight.

Her older sister now stood in Loki's place, dressed and veiled in the vibrant colours of Nifl's royalty, a smile on her face that was nothing like Gunnthrá's own. Soft pink hair flowed past a starkly beautiful face, tapering to gold as it trailed down her body, even the fine details of her intricate adornments a perfect match for Fjorm's memories of her. It was as if the sibling she had missed so much was now standing before her, lost no longer, and yet...

"I have as many faces as I please."

Of course, it wasn't truly Gunnthrá. It was a cruel trick, an illusion, and yet even knowing that, Fjorm's eyes could not pierce the glamor Loki had woven around herself. The vulture-like look on her sister's beautiful face was the only visible hint that this was not truly her sibling - the likeness was frightening, and Fjorm dreaded how a heartless fiend like Loki had come to know Gunnthrá well enough to craft such a facsimile of her.

"You seem distressed, my dear." Even Loki's voice was indistinguishable from Gunnthrá's refined tones now, her hand lifting to coax Fjorm's muzzle away from her face with a clever twist of her finger. It dissipated right under her nose, releasing its hold on her mouth and jaw, leaving her to suck in a lungful of foul dungeon air. "I thought you would be happy to see your sister again. Is something amiss?"

" _You are not my sister,_ " Fjorm spat, fighting her ethereal restraints as if she actually expected them to break, grunting in broken frustration as they resolutely held her twisting, thrashing form suspended in place. "Don't you _dare_ wear her face. You have _no right_!"

Loki snorted, a most un-Gunnthrá-like sound. "I will wear whichever face I like, my useless little princess... and despite what I said just now, my talents are not merely limited to the facial area." Her hands in their fur-lined sleeves slipped behind her back, beneath her draping veil, an eyebrow raised over mocking blue eyes. "Why don't I show you?"

Understanding dawned, and revulsion followed, Fjorm's face flushing face hot with outrage as Loki began to unfasten the laces of her sister's gorgeous blue dress, allowing it to slip down her elegant shoulders with a shrug. Painstakingly slowly, holding Fjorm's gaze and smiling all the while, the imposter peeled the elegant Niflian-styled dress away from the body it belonged to, a pair of large, snowy breasts cupped in white lace falling into view. Slowly, teasingly, Gunnthrá's slender arms, smooth porcelain stomach, curving hips were all exposed, the dress falling away to leave her in nothing but her veil and mantel and gauzy undergarments, and while it was all completely voluntary on Loki's part, it still felt as if Gunnthrá was right there with them, slowly being disrobed against her will.

Wriggling her shoulders, lewdly presenting the ample breasts she had borrowed, Gunnthrá - _Loki_ \- strutted out of the pool of her dress, her arms spread wide to show her stolen body off all the more. A twinkle in her icy eyes, she stepped towards the speechless, seething Fjorm once more, malicious delight on her familiar face. "Don't worry, sweetie, it's entirely authentic. My magic forged a perfect copy of your beloved sister, right down to her lovely tits."

She lifted her hands, theatrically seizing her breasts from beneath, squeezing them through her lacy brassiere and throwing her head back in feigned delight. "They're not nearly as big as my own, but they're a nice handful, I must say. Don't you agree?"

Her cheeks burning and eyes blazing, Fjorm could do nothing but look away from the sight Loki had prepared for her. It wasn't much in the way of resistance, but it was all she had.

Even this was soon undone. Solid mist nudged at her cheek, pushing at her face until she was looking forward once more, gripping her chin like a grasping hand, forcing her to look. Before she could even think to close her eyes, knots of sickly purple fog accosted her eyelids as well, pinning them up and trapping them open, denying her her last defense. "Now, now, I can't have you looking away," Loki cooed, delighted by the primal fear in Fjorm's helpless eyes. "Not when I've prepared such a show for you."

She couldn't move. Couldn't avert her eyes, couldn't even _close_ them. There was _nothing_ she could do but watch Loki approach her in her sister's perfect image, her veil and mantle and undergarments disappearing into mist, her adornments clattering to the floor around her feet as if they had simply fallen away. She was naked now, nothing but bare skin and lustrous pink and gold hair flowing around her generously curved body, and a subtle tug from the claws of mist around her chin compelled Fjorm to look downward at the nudity of her 'sister', at plump breasts still lifted by gently squeezing hands, at broad hips, at the scrap of thin pink hair just above her womanhood and the barest glimpse of pinker folds beneath.

She had never seen Gunnthrá like this, but she did not doubt for a second that what she saw was authentic, how her sister looked without her clothes, and the longer she was forced to stare at her sibling's brazen nakedness the harder it became to forget that this wasn't really her, that it was merely a shadow of the sister she loved...

"Like what you see?"

The mist pinning Fjorm's chin and eyelids faded away, and _gods_ , she wished the shackles had too. "You're... disgusting," she hissed, her face twisted in a mask of hate, her body thrashing in midair as she fought to wrest her wrists from restraints that had shaped themselves perfectly to her limbs. "Just... slay me and be done with it." 

She would have _preferred_ to die than to become some sort of puppet for this creature's twisted lusts, but her own life was out of her hands now. She was a prisoner of Loki's whims.

Whims which apparently involved the fiend pinching her own nipples, pulling and twisting them, all with a wickedly knowing smile on her face. "No no no, my sweet," she cooed, running illusionary hands over illusionary breasts, sliding one palm down her chest, her stomach, threatening to dart between her thighs and play with what she found. "Unlike Surtr, I don't throw away my toys until I have drained _every last drop of fun_ from them. We have barely even begun, dear Fjorm."

Hearing her own name spoken in Gunnthrá's familiar voice tore at Fjorm's heart. "S-stop this."

"Oh my, is the mighty princess of Nifl begging _already_?" Gunnthrá's lovely face folded in disappointment, and though Fjorm knew that it wasn't really her sister so let down by her display, it still _stung_.

She fought down the shameful tears that sprang to her eyes, cursing this creature and her manipulations. Reasoning with her was her only chance now, but Loki was so far beyond reason that she may as well save her breath, and Fjorm found she no longer had the temperament for it, anger boiling over through the cracks of her damaged pride. "I am not your toy! _Let me go_!"

"Did I not tell you how tiresome I find that line of conversation?" Crystal blue eyes narrowed in discontent, and Loki released her breasts as if they too had bored her, snatching Fjorm's chin into a cruelly tight grip. "Need I muzzle you again? Or... perhaps..."

A devious smile.

"No, I have a better idea."

Her lips darted in to claim Fjorm's before the princess could pull away, forcing a kiss on the shackled maiden that was anything but sisterly.

This time, Loki's kiss was soft and gentle rather than rough and selfish, but just as hungry as the first had been, dominating the inexperienced princess's lips and tongue, holding her head in place with a slender palm against either cheek. The sorceress pressed the front of her naked body against Fjorm's, the perfectly replicated mouth of her sister swallowing up her cries of horrified protest, large breasts pushed against small, nipples teasing nipples, noses and cheeks nudging as fists clenched and feet kicked in vain. Even if Loki dwelt behind them it was Gunnthrá's mouth devouring Fjorm's, Gunnthrá eyes staring into her little sister's, a woman indistinguishable from the sibling Fjorm had grown up in awe of forcing herself upon her shackled sister, showering her with an entirely different kind of love.

When Loki withdrew, Fjorm spluttered and spit, but Gunnthrá's hand slapped her for her ingratitude.

"Whatever is the matter?" She was impossibly smug, the wetness of her lips only making Fjorm wish that she could wipe her own clean of Gunnthrá's taste. "Your sister is very beautiful, isn't she? I know that _I_ certainly lusted for her, but until now I have had to make do with self-satisfaction." Again her stolen hand flirted with the gap between her thighs, hinting at the meaning behind her words. "Should I show you? What your dear sister looks like in the throes of ecstasy, her dear Fjorm's name on her lips?"

Ashen-faced, Fjorm looked away, her trembles only half born from rage.

"My Fjorm." A warm, tender hand closed around her breast, and a shuddering breath fled Fjorm's lips, her whole body tensing as a thumb toyed with her nipple. She tried to ignore it, block it out, but Loki denied her that as well, squeezing her soft mound in a voracious grip, claiming its twin and hounding them both with strokes, pinches, crushing pressure. Demanding her attention, taking it by force. "My sister. How long I have wanted this."

It was a lie. It was all a lie. Fjorm knew it in her heart, but her eyes saw and her body felt, and tears trickled down her cheeks as Loki's - Gunnthrá's - mouth dipped to her breast and sucked her nipple between lips and teeth. A warm, wet tongue flicked against her, teasing the hard little nub, moistening her rosy areola and tracing trails of gleaming saliva up and down her breast. 

If Fjorm were to be tortured, she would have preferred pain to _this_ \- it hurt, not her body but her heart, her mind, and she ground her teeth as her emotions got the better of her, only parting them to scream into the uncaring dungeon. " _Stop it! Stop! Don't!_ "

"Oh, my sweet sister..." Loki grinned up at her with her sister's face, two fingers rising, crooked just so. "I can do so much more to you than that."

"No..." Feral desperation took Fjorm, the word repeated over and over, quicker and quicker as Loki slowly, teasingly brought her hooked fingers down between Fjorm's forcibly parted legs - _no, no_ \- slid them through the little patch of soft blonde hair _no no no_ \- prodded against the warm, neat folds they found there... "No no _nononono_..."

Dry fingers rammed their way inside a dry pussy, and her pleas became a scream.

"Hahhh..." Gunnthrá's gloating face peered up at her as those fingers began to work her, slowly sliding in and out of her passage, rubbing against her unprepared inner walls without mercy. "I knew you could use a good fucking, you uptight little priss. You... and your sister... and your mother... a whole _family_ of ice queens." She spread her fingers apart, stretching Fjorm's cunt, wringing a thin wail from her throat. "I didn't get to play with Her Majesty before my lord snuffed her out, but you'll do. Oh, how she would have _cried to see her daughter like this_..."

Her eyelids clamped shut, blood pounding in her ears, Fjorm almost missed the subtle shift in Loki's tone, in the shape and feel of her fingers as they slipped in and out of her slowly moistening womanhood. Almost.

She knew that voice.

Her heart felt like it had stopped, frozen over. It wasn't Gunnthrá's fingers buried inside of her now, nor the red-haired woman she had met in the ruined village. She _knew_ who she would see if she dared to open her eyes, whose face would now be profaned by Loki's mocking smirk. Who was fucking her.

"Open your eyes, my dear," the late Queen coaxed, but Fjorm did not. Would not.

This time Loki seemed untroubled by Fjorm's disobedience; she did not conjre more mist to force her eyes open, but nor did she cease the work that her illusionary daughter had begun, crooking her fingers within Fjorm's pussy to make her whimper and fight to close her thighs. She was getting wet now, completely against her will, but her body didn't care if the precisely delivered stimulation it was receiving was from a lover or a torturer, her breathing hastening as arousal was forced upon her whether she wanted it or not.

Being defeated by Surtr had been her life's greatest shame, but Loki had dragged her to new, still darker depths of humiliation.

"Fjorm, Fjorm..." Her mother's voice chanted the name as her fingers drove her towards her peak, her other hand locating Fjorm's clit and drawing teasing circles around it, making her twist and cry out in despairing want. "My dear Fjorm, I'm not angry with you, only _very_ disappointed." A kiss against her belly, _almost_ motherly. "You let Surtr best you. You allowed his servant to _have_ you. You failed to avenge me. I had hoped for so much _more_ from you, my daughter."

Even if this Queen was a fake, Fjorm could not deny the bitter truth in her words. She was disgraced. A failure. She had nobody to blame for her fate but herself. She had not been strong enough to best Surtr, nor wise enough to see it, and this was her punishment.

She wept, but Loki was far from done with her.

"Open your eyes for me, sweetheart," It was her mother's voice still, luring her with honeyed warmth, but the endearment was one the Queen had never used for her. No, it was something Loki would say, not the Niflian matriarch, and Fjorm reminded herself of that and kept her eyes shut tight, even when those violating fingers pinched her clit and made her squeal into the stagnant air. 

She could not bear that. She could bear pain, humiliation, even rape, but not her mother's face staring up at her as she hung here, chained and naked and shamefully aroused. She would _not_ look.

Then, without warning, those evil fingers slid out of her slick womanhood, wiping themselves clean against her inner thigh, but Fjorm was left no time for disgust or relief. Where her mother's hand had abandoned, her lips and tongue swiftly took over, eagerly setting upon Fjorm's vulnerable pussy with a flurry of hungry licks and kisses, and the chains pinned up her arms and held her legs parted, stretching her wide for Loki to do as she wished, leaving her no choice to take it. 

There was no resisting the surge of pleasure it stirred, no matter how hard she tried to ignore it. Everything about this was _wrong_ , and the deepest part of her brain screamed at her that this wasn't her mother, hadn't been her sister, but in the tumult her mind had become it hardly mattered. She was still being defiled, the woman still sounded like her mother, her mother's face was pressed against her pussy, sucking, licking-

The moment she orgasmed, her suspended body finally giving in to the constant barrage of stimulation, was the worst moment of Fjorm's life. 

She wailed, her eyes still closed tight, her body shuddering and bucking against Loki's lifelike mask as climax overtook her. There was pleasure, but it was no consolation, no defense against the shame and self-loathing that swallowed her up as her wetness slicked her thighs. It left her barren, drained and shattered. Subjugated.

Her pride in ruins, her will falling to pieces around her, she lowered her head and flinched as wet lips planted a kiss against her clit, then trailed upward over her stomach to press another between her heaving breasts. A chuckle expanded into a mocking laugh, her mother's voice used as a weapon against her suffering soul, and she wept as Loki pulled away from her with a final kiss against her forehead and a ruffle of her still-dirty hair, wishing that Surtr had taken her life. If her mother's spirit was watching over her, she might have died again from the shame of having such a weak daughter.

"I knew you'd be amusing, my sweet little Fjorm." 

As Loki spoke, her voice shifted yet _again_ , becoming lighter and softer than her mother's warmer cadence, and while Fjorm's reeling mind couldn't quite place it, it sounded chillingly familiar, as if it were one that she heard every day. "Don't worry your pretty head. We're not finished here by a long shot."

Who was it?! Not her mother, not her sister, not even the red-haired woman Loki had first taken as a guise. Not one of the Niflian knights or serving maids, no foe she had ever crossed blades with... but who...?

When Fjorm finally found the strength to open her tearful eyes, desperate to know, it was her own face that she found staring back at her.

The imitation was as naked as she, her slim, athletic body missing only the ghostly chains of mist that held the true Fjorm captive, every detail of her flesh perfectly replicated before her eyes. Even Loki's inner thighs shone with the same sordid slickness that Fjorm could feel cooling on her own, and when the imitator caught her looking, her copied face twisted into a savagely victorious expression that Fjorm had never worn in her life. "It's like looking into a mirror, isn't it?"

Her head still spinning from shock and strain, Fjorm fixed her imitation with the most hateful stare she could manage. "L-leave me alone..."

"Oh, dear, I can't do that." 

Fjorm flinched as a hand indistinguishable from her own cupped her cheek, all tenderness and love as it stroked her in a mockery of comfort. Malice shone from the bright blue eyes boring into hers, lips still wet with the Niflian princess's orgasm pursing as they drifted closer, closer... and pressed themselves against Fjorm's slack mouth, sharing the Niflian girl's own tepid taste with her.

Fjorm had not the strength left to fight the kiss, numbly allowing her mirror image to do as she pleased, but nor did she welcome it, remaining entirely passive and unresponsive as a face just like hers smothered her mouth in eager affection and breathed lusty groans against her tongue. The taste of herself on Loki's lips made her want to be sick, but she refused to give the witch the pleasure, stubbornly giving her nothing as Loki enjoyed the kiss for all it was worth.

"How could I leave you be when we're having so much fun together?" She pulled away at last, giving Fjorm room to breathe, and the mirror of herself shimmered and flickered, the image of the formerly innocent princess warping and folding back into the likeness of her mother, then Gunnthrá, then the red-haired girl, all naked, and then into Surtr, mercifully fully clothed. For a moment she was a woman Fjorm had never seen before, dagger-sharp eyes and long magenta hair and a feathered robe parted to reveal enormous breasts, and then she was Fjorm again, still smiling wickedly, fondling her own breasts and winking lewdly. "Though I suppose I _could_ go visit a nearby city and whore the place up while I look like you, if you prefer? Maybe go and find your sister and give her a show. I won't tell her I'm not really you if you don't."

Her pride already lay in ruins, but every word tore shreds to smaller shreds. She knew that Loki could do _everything_ she threatened - _Fjorm_ could barely tell the difference between herself and her doppelganger, so how could anyone else? Loki could destroy her reputation, and Nifl's, and begging no longer carried the sting it once had, not when her face was wet with tears and her thighs wet with cum. "D-don't... please..."

A sly smirk spread across the other Fjorm's face. "You're afraid of a little public shaming? I'll remember that... but right now I think I'll keep you all to myself. To your knees."

The chains of mist slackened around Fjorm's limbs, but they did not release her, guiding her down to the freezing floor like a marionette on strings and forcing her to her bare knees before Loki. They took her hands together behind her back, one shackle joining to another to pin them there, humbling her in front of her twin, and broken Fjorm let it happen, her will to fight lost beneath her shame.

The impostor stepped closer, looking down on the defeated princess with imperious disdain, every inch the victorious royalty despite her continued nudity and the drying slick between her thighs. Staring down her nose at Fjorm, she came to a halt right in front of her, _too close_ , the scent of her own violated womanhood drifting against her nose as she found herself staring right into Loki's crotch - _her_ crotch, wet and ready, as if her doppelganger had suffered through the same forced orgasm she had. Gods, was that what _she_ looked like right now?

"If you bite, I will take great pleasure in slowly removing your teeth."

That was the only warning Fjorm received before hands nested in her hair, gripped her head tight, and forced her face between her twin's sticky thighs.

Her yelp was swallowed by hot, wet flesh, her nose and lips forced to embrace glistening folds as Loki ground her crotch against her captive's face, smearing scent and juices across the royal scion's lovely features. There was no air, no space, just slick warmth and downy hair and a wicked laugh both alien and familiar as she was rubbed against a copy of her own womanhood, as if she were some lewd toy for Loki's use. She tried to pull away but those hands kept her in place, tried to struggle but the chains locked her down, tried to breathe but there was no escape...

"Start licking," her own voice commanded from on high.

Panic flooding her mind, her lungs desperately seeking air and finding none, Fjorm was left with only one sordid option. Forcing herself to ignore the disgust welling up in her throat, she began to lick at the soaked folds pressing against her face, her clumsy tongue lapping frantically at the sticky, musky pinkness that supposedly resembled her own slit. It was completely unfamiliar to her, but it wasn't difficult, The taste of herself filled her mouth, the scent of her arousal infesting her nostrils, and for a moment she was certain she would die like this, her face buried breathless in her doppelganger's cunt.

Finally, she was pulled back by her frosty blonde hair, her gasp of pain ensuring that she snatched in direly needed air before she was put back to work. The pussy of her imitation was soaked in arousal and saliva, her clit hard and ready, her breath short and rough as she enjoyed her unwilling servant's labors, but Fjorm made herself continue, gave her what she wanted, silently praying that the faster she finished her horrid work the faster Loki would grow bored of her and _let her go_...

That Loki wouldn't simply kill her.

Hands bound, head gripped, there was nothing she could do but lick, suffering the taste and the smell and the clinging wetness and the disgrace that threatened to swallow her up, shutting everything out but the motion of her tongue against intimate flesh. If she thought about what she was doing it would crush her, so she _refused_ to think, simply repeating the motions again and again as if she were training with her spear, learning by rote. It was the only way she could cope.

Lick. Lick. Forget the taste. Forget the humiliation, forget Loki, just lick. Lick. Lick-

There was no ignoring the joyful scream Loki released in Fjorm's voice as she came, nor the hot jet of cum that sprayed the princess's face and shot down her throat as she was held pinned between her legs. 

Fjorm choked, gagged, thrashed, but Loki did not see fit to release her until she was completely spent, heaving a theatric sigh of satisfaction as she drew away from the filthied princess and admired her work from above. Her face was flushed and sticky, her blonde hair matted to her glistening forehead, bitter tears mixing with the fluids Loki had left behind as she lowered her head and wept.

 _This_ was what Loki had wanted, from the moment she had first laid eyes on the Princess of Nifl. Pretty, noble young things like her were for breaking. Using. Ruining.

Still wearing Fjorm's likeness as a guise, the sorceress lowered herself to her knees and cupped the princess's soiled face in both hands, subtly shifting her illusionary visage to match the miserably soaked girl chained and crying in front of her. A flush in her cheeks, tears and cum coating her snow-pale skin, soft blonde hair in sodden disarray. A wreck of a maiden.

She made Fjorm look, take in the state of herself through her red-rimmed eyes, and then she kissed her again, devouring her prisoner's mouth in a breathless, relentless blur. Lips smashed against lips, tongue forcing its way into play, the taste and smell of sex overpoweringly all-consuming as Loki dominated the poor girl's face. Identical noses nudged against one another, identical breasts grazing and bumping in the heat of passion, but only one mouth sighed desire into the other, one pair of lips pursued the voraciously sloppy kiss.

Only one face shifted into Gunnthrá's in the middle of the kiss, mouth curving into a sadistic smile as Fjorm noticed the change and opened her eyes and _tried_ to recoil in horror. She'd left herself covered in illusionary cum purely out of amusement, hadn't allowed it to begin drying as the leavings on Fjorm's face had, still completely naked and disheveled as she stared into Fjorm's eyes, delighting in the shock she _still_ found there after so much... activity.

"Sister, how _could_ you?" she made Gunnthrá say, expression shifting from glorying spite to wounded disgust in a heartbeat, and the twist of hurt on Fjorm's face told her that it had hit its target even when the Niflian girl knew that none of it was real. She was so pathetically pliable that Loki _almost_ felt bad, but the sensitive toys were the most fun to destroy, and this girl was in all aspects sensitive.

"You cannot feel that way for me. You _cannot_." Perhaps she was overdoing it, but the hooks she'd sunk into Fjorm's heart were too much fun to pull, and she rose to her feet with Gunnthrá's mask set in revulsion, shielding her naked body with arms drawn tight. "It is _not right_ , Fjorm... and you, look at you! Are you even my sister anymore?!"

"Y-you're not..." The catch in Fjorm's voice unraveled into a sob, her head a mess, shame and guilt and confusion and weariness and pain all exacting their tolls on the foundation of her mind. Really, Loki knew that she should let the wretched thing rest and stew in her own juices, quite literally, before breaking her further... but the sorceress had never been good at resisting temptation, and delectable Fjorm was just that.

With a snap of her fingers, the chains binding the Niflian girl's wrists together behind her back dissolved into vapor, but Loki had never been one to give away chances. Fjorm barely had an instant to register her newfound freedom before a hand grasped the back of her head and shoved her down to the floor, her palms reflexively slamming against the stone floor to stop her descent, her icy eyes bewildered as she realized that her restraints were gone-

Only for fresh ones to snap closed around her wrists, tethering her hands to the floor, bending her over on all fours like a dog.

"Oh, so quick to prostrate yourself before me, sister..." Shaking Gunnthrá's pretty head, luxurious pink hair sweeping across porcelain shoulders and brazenly naked breasts, Loki stepped around Fjorm as if she were something she had spilled on the floor, a dense bulge of mist manifesting at the sorceress's crotch as the shackled girl craned her head to follow her. "Were you expecting me to forgive you, when your sins run so deep? When you are so very weak?"

Fjorm's denials died in her throat as the mist took form between Loki's legs, solidifying into a long, thick, slightly curved rod that protruded from her crotch, resembling nothing so much as...

"N-no...!"

"Oh, you know what this is?" The last thing Fjorm saw of it before Loki stepped out of her field of view was the way one of her hands, Gunnthrá's hands, settled around the base of the shimmering purple cock and stroked at its translucent length as if it were a part of her body. "I'd thought you more innocent than that. Tell me..."

She climbed back down to her knees behind Fjorm, admiring the pale, flawless curves of her ass, tracing the warmth of her buttocks as she guided the hot, hard tip of her phallic rod of mist to Fjorm's wet pink slit and teasingly nudged it. Already tense and shivering, Fjorm cried out at the intimate contact, her naked body leaning forward as far as her chains would allow, only to be snatched back again by an arm around her waist.

"Just who was it that you secretly bedded while playing the part of the perfect princess?" Gunnthrá's voice dripping contempt from her tongue, Loki slid the warm length she had crafted for herself flat between Fjorm's ass cheeks, threatening her with far worse, and Fjorm's ragged breaths signaled that the grim message had been received. "The duke's son? The duke himself? Or did you aim lower your first time? A servant? A stable boy? Oh, how I would have _loved_ to watch you spread your legs amidst the hay for some lice-ridden horse wrangler, my dear sister..."

"Y-you are _not_ my sister, and there was no-one..." Fjorm didn't even know why she was defending herself to this foul creature, her thoughts falling out of her mouth in a panicked jumble as searing hardness rubbed between her buttocks, back and forth, firm yet sliding as it were coated in slickness. "D-don't, please, I beg of you..."

"Oh, you're begging now?" Loki feigned apathy, but she couldn't keep the glee from her illusionary face, and she celebrated the occasion by aiming the tip of her shimmering purple creation at the tight pucker of Fjorm's rear hole, pressing against the vulnerable entrance, reveling in Fjorm's squealing protest - _no, please!_ \- as she threatened a threshold beyond which her toy could not fit. "The right time to beg for mercy would have been _before_ crossing blades with Surtr, my dear. Perhaps then you would have been granted a swift death instead of a long, painful... undoing."

Her hands gripping Fjorm's trembling flanks, she ignored her desperate pleas for mercy and slid her toy into the royal waif's back passage, spreading her open, and how she wished that the implement could _feel_ the girl's ass stretching around it as she ploughed deeper without the slightest concern for her victim's safety. Fjorm screamed, of course, but it wouldn't save her, only fueled Loki's cruelty as she hilted herself in the shackled princess and leaned over her, Gunnthrá's bare breasts pressing warmth against her back, Gunnthrá's long pink hair trailing softness over her shoulder, Gunnthrá's smiling mouth lurking next to her ear.

"You're mine, dear sister... and you will _never_ look at me the same way again."

She slid her translucent cock of mist out of Fjorm's straining hole and rammed it back in, and Fjorm's cry was thinner this time but still agonized, broken, enough so that for a moment Loki wondered what it would be like to feel guilt.

Instead, she felt for Fjorm's dangling breasts, grasping them in Gunnthrá's hands and squeezing them without mercy, keeping her own pressed against Fjorm's back as she held her impaled and keening. She felt nothing through her unnatural attachment, but the Niflian girl's cries and pleas were more than enough to stoke her lust, building it back into a raging fire. Gods, if only she'd never told her that she wasn't truly Gunnthrá... the fun she could have had...

Then again, the idea of taunting her with her dead mother's voice, fucking her with her dead mother's fingers and tongue, had been far too delicious _not_ to indulge in.

Still fondling the girl's breasts with one hand, she slid the other down between her legs and invaded her pussy once more, spreading her open on her parted fingers, but this time Fjorm simply stared ahead with eyes more akin to glass than to ice, barely raising a sound, absorbing everything that was thrown at her with the steadfast acceptance of one who simply wasn't there anymore. She had mentally retreated, leaving her body behind to bear the pain, but if Loki had wanted to play with her unresisting shell she would have fucked Fjorm while she slept. Cruel fingers twisted and pinched at nipples and clit, smeared sticky wetness over stomach and breasts and face, held her captive as she pounded in and out of her ass without relent.

Yet when she brought Fjorm back to orgasm on her fingers, a feeble jerk of her hips and a wail all too weak and brief was all that she received for her trouble, and even Gunnthrá's mocking laughter in her ear could wring no more pleas or tears from the ragged wreck of a girl.

It felt as if she were unsheathing herself from a corpse.

"Is this really all you have?" Loki rose, the hard rod of mist at her crotch dissolving along with the image of Gunnthrá, warping and melding into the shape of the woman with the long magenta hair and the enormous breasts barely constrained by her robes of black and purple and gold. The true form of the sorceress, at least as far as anybody could testify. "Princess Fjorm of Nifl, defeated by a little rough sex. One for the tavern songs."

Fjorm didn't reply. Couldn't. There was too much pain, and nothing to say.

Her silence did not impress Loki, the sorceress's sharp purple eyes narrowing in disgust. "Are you _trying_ to bore me? You understand that I could easily kill you when I tire of you."

In that moment, humiliated and cold and soiled and so very sore, Fjorm would not have cared if Loki made good on her threat. Silence reigned. 

"...Fine."

The mockery dropped from Loki's voice, and the chains dropped from Fjorm's wrists and ankles, smoking into oblivion as they hit the floor with shallow clanks. If there had been any fight left in Fjorm's abused body and shattered heart she might have tried to rise, to ball her fists, _anything_ , but the moment she noticed that she was free she simply dropped to the icy floor as if she didn't even feel the chill, curling her body up into a ball, staring blankly into the darkest corner of the dungeon.

Pathetic.

"You no longer amuse me." Glaring down her nose at the pitiful wreck of a princess, Loki allowed her fickle mind to flit between a handful of possibilities. She could kill Fjorm now and be done with it. Torture her the old-fashioned way, the way her king preferred. Leave her locked up down here until she regained her strength, then fuck it out of her again. All of them would amuse her, but...

The girl in front of her was not Fjorm, Princess of Nifl anymore. Right now, her loveliness aside, the heaving heap on the floor was indistinguishable from any of the other victims she had ruined over the years. Where was the fun of breaking her when she was already so very broken? What was the point?

No, if she were to salvage this toy, the Niflian girl would require one thing more than any other.

Time.

That, Loki had in spades.

"If you are going to be like _that_ , I have no further need of you." Purple heels clicked upon the stone floor as the sorceress walked away without a backward glance, her long hair and feathered robe trailing after her as she stepped into the dungeon dark. "Leave. Stay. Do as you please."

Would she regret this? None of Loki's other discarded toys had come back to haunt her. Even if this one did, spear in hand, Loki was confident that she could handle anything that Surtr could, and Fjorm had given him little trouble... and that was _before_ she had been so clinically ruined. No, Fjorm was hardly a threat. Letting her go would cost Loki nothing, if the girl ever found the nerve to face her, she would simply tear her apart all over again.

She was looking forward to it already.

"Just don't forget what happened today... my dear little Fjorm. I know I won't."

When Fjorm finally found the strength to look up, Loki was gone.

**Author's Note:**

> Gunnthrá won the Heroes voting gauntlet today. Let's pretend that this is a celebration of her achievement, and not at all a coincidence.


End file.
